Iroquois Plisken, Lt. Junior Grade
by Tru
Summary: MGS2 the way I would have liked to have played it: in Snake's point of view. **Chapter 1 is up**
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Characters and game references are all property of creative genius Hideo Kojima****

Prologue

The diner was empty but for the two men in the corner booth.  The waitress had long since given up on them, realizing they only desired coffee and privacy.  She now busied herself with the morning newspaper as she enjoyed her own cup of coffee.

Hal glanced nervously at man sitting across from him.  He knew what he was asking of Dave; they both did.  _I'm asking him to risk his life again, and even worse: to work for the government that has betrayed him so many times already._  And all for what?  Metal Gear was his problem, not Dave's.  It was his creation, his sin, and his responsibility.  Still, he needed help and had nowhere else to turn.  Hal waited anxiously for the response.

***

"Philanthropy, eh?"

So that was it; he had wondered what this would be about.  Dave hadn't heard from the scientist in over a year, not since... well, not since _Shadow Moses_.  When Hal had called to arrange this meeting it had certainly made him curious.  Now he understood.

The nightmare that he thought had ended with the destruction of REX was in truth far from over.  Now Metal Gear prototypes were available to anyone with the funds and a vendetta, all thanks to Ocelot.  It would only be a matter of time before someone built a couple of REXes and nuked a country.  No doubt Hal felt responsible.  _But eradicating Metal Gear altogether?_  That was a pretty ambitious plan, government backed or not.  A humorless smile touched his lips.  Actually, they would probably be better off without those manipulative pentagon bastards.

Outside, two children streaked by the diner window, shouting and giggling.   An old man ambled along after them, trying to keep up.  _"...fighting was the only thing—the only thing I was ever good at.  But at least I always fought for what I believed in..."_  Dave ground out his cigarette and leveled his hazel eyes on Hal.

"I'm in."


	2. Complications

Complications **Strut B Transformer Room**

The air was thick with the stench of blood, some of it his own.  Not six feet away was sprawled the horrifically mutilated body of a very important man.  He decided it was shaping up to be as successful a mission as any.

His mind wandered back to the pale soldier, not much more than a kid, really.  What was his name again?  Raiden?  He wondered about the origin of that one.  Still, who was he to judge?

_Iroquois Plisken._  He smiled in spite of himself.  And Otacon had called him a bad actor.

The smile faded and his thoughts returned to more serious matters.  For one thing, why was the football here?  And then there was the FOXHOUND soldier; the kid hadn't been briefed about _anything_, and he'd been sent in alone.  (_Why does that sound familiar?)_  Furthermore, Raiden had no field experience, not to mention he'd been walking around armed with nothing more than an M9 tranq pistol: about the equivalent of a dart gun against a member of Dead Cell.

_At least the kid has some decent gear._  Plisken wistfully recalled his own sneaking suit, stowed away in a locker nearby.  In contrast, the Navy SEAL uniform was hot and bulky, but necessary.  He couldn't afford to be recognized.

A faint buzzing in his ear signaled an incoming call—the radio.  Only Raiden would be calling on the radio; Otacon would use the codec.  He feigned sleep, not in the mood to explain everything from Dead Cell to the birds and the bees for the kid.

"Plisken!  ...?  He's sleeping!"  The surprised voice sounded in his ear.  A moment later the radio buzzed again as Raiden tried one last time.  "He's still asleep?!"

He was, in fact, far from it.  In the midst of a spectacle of death, assaulted with the rancid smell of drying blood, Iroquois Plisken lit a smoke and considered his limited options.

***

**Strut H Heliport**

He crouched silently, studying the patrol routes of the sentries.  The C4 sensor appeared to be working fine; the area in front of him was a bright green cloud on the radar.  Unfortunately, the red dot and blue cone of a sentry was marching all over that green cloud.  Plisken peeked around the oil drums that served as his cover and whispered a curse.

He was still in a foul mood from his most recent encounter with Raiden.  It was the second time the kid had pointed a gun in his face, and a gun he had gotten from Plisken, no less.  Looking up the long barrel of the assault rifle after saving Raiden's ass from Vamp was irking enough, but having his own SOCOM shoved in his face...!  In the end, he decided that the kid had to be partially retarded and let it slide with a "Don't go pointing that thing everywhere." 

Watching the sentry finish his third patrol without alteration, Plisken waited for the next opening and dove into the green cloud.  He ducked behind a cargo rack and found himself face to face with the first pack of C4.  _A stroke of good luck for a change._

He had just reached the first floor of strut H when the distinct ring of his codec filled his head.  He glanced around for enemy guards before disappearing into the shadows of the stairwell.

"Snake, I've made it to the Shell 2 Core."

"Did anyone see you?"

"Negative, I'm packing stealth, remember?"

"I know, just be careful.  Have you found anything?"

"Not yet, the security on these computers is super tight.  I'm working on it though.  How are you doing?"

"Sidetracked."  He explained the situation as briefly as he could.  At the mention of his alias an irritating smirk took up residence on Otacon's face.

"But FOXHOUD was disbanded," Otacon protested when he'd finished.

"I know."

"And what do the terrorists have to gain by planting C4 all over the Big Shell and blowing themselves out of the water?"

"I don't know; it doesn't make sense."

 "All right, I'll look into it," Otacon said after a pause, "_Plisken._"  The smirk was back.


End file.
